Thursday, August 4, 2016

my mother's robe

My mother's robe
Holding on and letting go...
My mother's mind
They are one and the same

Worn and threadbare

With holes and spots
Dulled by years of use

A source of distress

A source of comfort
Evidence of living while dying

My hand holds it suspended

Hovering over the trash
I release my grasp ever so slightly
I feel its' layers begin to slip through my fingers
I clench my fist and draw it close
Unable to let it go

I breathe it in

Again
And then again
I am wrapped in repulsion and desperation
Wrapped in longing for my momma 
Allowing what remains to cling to me

My mother's robe

My mother's mind
They are one and the same

I bathe it in chemicals
I bathe it in music
Feeble attempts to remove the years

I sew on patches

Closing the holes
But the threads are so bare
They do not hold

My mother's robe

Continually worn for three years now
Has been at my house for ten days
She hasn't asked for it once
Like everything else
It is gone from her mind

My mother's robe

My mother's mind
They are one and the same



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